Stonefinger
by NoRainsBlow
Summary: Harry is having a nice drink when Malfoy approaches him. Harry stuns him and is just preparing to dispose of the body when Malfoy is unfortunately kidnapped. He knew he should have gone to another pub. Including mad villains, angry Hermione and wise-crack


Stonefinger

The badly-lit, inconsequential pub on the corner of Latent Road with its heavy wooden booths and its smoky, slightly sinister atmosphere was Harry Potter's favourite place to drink. No one asked any questions. The Tudor-frame windows were so pokey and narrow that even in the middle of the day the room was dark. The tables were stained with wax and liquids. It was a hidden, nasty little place filled with wizards with shady, squinted eyes and rough, elderly witches who jeered at each other like toothless crones.

Harry didn't care much for the beer either. It wasn't a brand he'd come across before in the Wizarding world, so it was probably homebrewed. But he went there for the dark and the chance to sit and brood uninterrupted. Around him the noise was minimal. A lot of people came to the 'Black Hart' alone and sat in a turgid stupor, mulling over their beer. Harry wasn't anything special.

On this particular day, Harry sloped into the bar at just past six. It was October and it was bitingly cold out. There was of course no music in the background, and he navigated his way to the bar, as he always did, with his head bent low. He didn't notice the man in the corner edge his way to the bar and stare at Harry through slanted eyes.

'Evening,' the bartender said in a low voice.

'Pint please,' Harry muttered, fumbling in his robe for a few sickles. The wave of old smoke hit his nostrils as it always did and he wrinkled his nose slightly. It smelled familiar and musty. Somehow it was soothing that the Hart never changed. It probably hadn't changed that much since 1536 when it had first opened its doors. A plague on the left hand wall bore the inscription 'Opened on the Eve of Anne Boleyn's Execution.'

'That's eleven sickles,' the man said, dropping a blackish, odious-looking pint down on the counter in front of Harry. As always, the glass was dirty around the rim. Harry pulled out his handful of coins and squinted down at them.

'No, please, allow me,' someone - a man - said in a soft, courteous voice. Harry heard the chink of coins from a velvet case. It was probably just another bar-trawler looking for anyone under thirty but the voice made him uneasy. It was rare for anyone well-spoken to come to Hart and even rarer for them to single out Harry in particular. That was the sole attraction of the place.

'I've got it' Harry said hurriedly. He glanced up at the guy who had spoken. He was wearing a fur lined hood over his hair but his scarred, battered face was somewhat familiar even with all the blue and black on it. Harry stared at him, and then felt in his robe for his wand. 'You!'

'Yes,' the other man replied in his soft lilt. 'I suppose you thought you'd never be found.'

'No, I kind of thought you were dead actually,' Harry replied blankly. He took his pint from the counter, without having paid for it (he was fairly sure the gentleman could afford eleven sickles) and moved over to his usual smoky booth in the far corner. His leg ached terribly tonight.

He was followed. The other man took a seat next to him and Harry stared at the bruising across his adversary's formerly handsome face.

'Who tried to colour you in?' he asked in an unconcerned tone of voice. 'Whoever it was, they obviously only had three colours.'

The other man looked horribly surprised, as if this were not going the way he'd planned. 'What?'

'Red, blue and black,' Harry said. He took a long sip of his beer and stretched his foot underneath the table. 'So what do you want, Malfoy?'

'To talk to you,' Malfoy replied.

'Well. Consider this a good day then,' Harry said.

'Potter, you can't stay here indefinitely,' Malfoy hissed. He, Harry noticed, had not sampled the beer but was drinking white wine. The bartender clearly wasn't used to such high-class demands; he'd poured it into a pint glass just the same.

'No, well, closing time's half twelve,' Harry agreed.

'That's not what I meant!' Malfoy snapped. 'You're such an - '

'Malfoy,' Harry interrupted. 'I suggest you write to your parents.'

'What? Why?'

'I'm going to kill you. They'll need to arrange the funeral. _Stupefy.'_

The other man's head immediately lolled forwards onto the table, knocking his white wine over in the process. All Harry could now see of the man was the top of his hood The liquid dripped onto Harry's legs and he quickly cleaned it up with a scourging charm. Harry sighed and drained the rest of his pint down quickly, trying not to look at the unconscious body opposite him.

It didn't surprise him that no one else seemed to have noticed the fact there was an unconscious man in his booth. It was dark, and slumping yourself over the table in despair was often the only thing you could rationally do anyway in a place like this anyway.

Then Harry stood up, and poked the body with his wand. With one hand, he had a grip on Malfoy's limp shoulder. Usually Harry didn't need a wand; he'd learned to do without, but in trying to transport two people he thought he might need a stronger direction of his magic. He muttered the charm and, with a satisfying pop, both men disappeared from the Black Hartand landed in Harry's flat.

The second they hit ground, Harry felt hands wrap around his throat. He swore, and tried to wrestle them off him but they were awfully strong. 'What the hell!' he exclaimed but no sound came out except a gargled sort of cry. Obviously they just didn't make unconscious bodies the way they used to, because this one was furious.

Harry kneed Malfoy's groin. There was a cry of pain but the hands around Harry's throat didn't loosen. He tried to kick again, but found himself soundlyknocked to the floor with the other man on top of him, still clutching at his throat. Harry's hands, which were flailing at the side of his body, found Malfoy's eyes, and he didn't hesitate before digging his nails in.

The other man let go suddenly, yelping and swearing furiously in pain. He rolled off Harry and lay on the floor next to him, groaning. Harry gasped and breathed in deeply, rubbing his neck.

'That wasn't fair play, Potter!' Malfoy said. '_Reparo Oculus.'_

'But trying to choke me was a really good display of sportsmanship?' Harry muttered more to himself than the other boy. 'I thought you were unconscious.'

'That's two times today you've misjudged me then,' Malfoy answered. 'What is it with you and thinking I'm nearer dead than alive?'

'Do I really have to answer that?'

'No. Nice flat, by the way. A bit Spartan, but still…' Malfoy said, gesturing around. He seemed to run out of words seeing as Harry's flat was absolutely blank. The walls were white, the furniture was all pine and white, and the floors were unvarnished wood. It was a horrible flat.

'Thanks. What do you want?' Harry said. .

'To talk to you,' Malfoy repeated from earlier in the evening. He took a seat on one of Harry's budget armchairs and Harry resisted the urge to tell him not to get it dirty.

'And you couldn't have done that in the pub?'

'No. This is important. I don't want to talk over sleazy witches and besides, you tried to hex me.'

'It was worth it,' Harry pointed out. 'Can I get you a drink?'

'Would it be poisoned?'

'Very probably,' Harry said.

'Thanks, I'll pass then.'

Harry took a seat and turned the lights on in the flat. They illuminated the fact that Malfoy's face was completely riddled with bruising and added to that, his eyes were now extremely bloodshot. He looked positively awful. At least looking at him was a break from looking at white though. He almost added something to the décor.

'So,' Malfoy said and his voice was soft again, 'the thing is, we need you to come back to Hogwarts. You can't spend a minute longer in Hull. There's a War, Potter. And you are really pivotal to us winning it.'

'Last time I remember, your side was the one that wanted me dead,' Harry said.

'Things change.'

'Not that much they don't.'

'Potter, I really don't like you,' Malfoy said. He rubbed his face with his hand and winced as he touched over a particularly angry looking sore.

'You want some salve?' Harry said. He fleetingly wondered if he had any salve and if there was enough in the world to help out a face like that anyway.

'No, it's a good disguise,' Malfoy said.

'I recognised you,' Harry pointed out. 'But that was probably the accent too. Look, you're going to have to go. I don't want to talk to you and if you stay I'll probably have to attack you. And I'm not going back to Hogwarts anyway.'

'Hermione's been injured,' said Malfoy rather hesitantly.

'Since when did you call her that?'

'Since I started teaching with her. Since you buggered off to this godforsaken place in the middle of the War. Since I changed sides. Things have happened Potter. Just because you've been too busy doing nothing to notice doesn't mean they've stopped.'

'I think you're forgetting that you're my enemy,' Harry said scathingly. He stood up and walked off into the kitchen, where he made himself a cup of tea. He pointedly didn't make one for Malfoy. Just as he was pulling the teabag out of the water, there was a bloodcurdling scream from the lounge.

Harry dashed back in, to find that Malfoy was gone and in his seat lay a neat little rectangle of paper with some words printed on it in a red italic script. They were short and to the point:

'Draco Malfoy has now been taken by order of the Exchange Bureau. Please accept his death.'

'Damn it,' Harry muttered. 'These things are like buses. There's nothing for years, then two come along at once.'


End file.
